The Joke

Part 3: The Joke

Here I stand.

I feel the dirt under my big red shoes.

Spotlights aimed directly at me.

Making me sweat.

Droplets of perspiration temporarily blinding.

Attempting to ruin the makeup.

It doesn't run one bit.

Feeling an uncountable number of painted eyes staring at me.

Listening to them laugh.

Like I'm the punchline.

Of the joke.

Watching across from me there is another victim.

He has the same tell tale markings I have.

Bleach burned face.

Blood stained smile.

Curly knotted hair.

Evidence of trying to wipe away the makeup.

And just like me failed as well.

Confused and lost.

Unsure why he is here as well.

Hearing the same laughter.

Wonders the same thing.

Listening to them laughing.

Like he is the punchline.

Of the joke.

Clowns staring at their new victims.

Proud of their handiwork.

Betting on which one will join their circus.

They all can't stop smiling.

Some because they don't want to.

Others because they have no other choice but to.

All of them knowing you can't spell slaughter.

Without laughter.

Laughing without stopping.

Since they know the punchline.

Of the joke.

We both cross our arms in protest.

We both refuse to fight.

Unwilling to give into their demands.

Rejecting their request for blood lust.

Screaming together that we won't do this.

Knifes are thrown in the arena.

Pictures of family followed.

We both stand there.

Listening to them laugh,

As we understand the punchline.

Of the joke.

I pick up the knife.

The glass on the the frame of my family has has been shattered.

A shard has gone through my picture.

Symbolizing what must be done.

Knowing if I do not play along.

My family will pay the price.

Letting the carnival music invade my soul.

Destroying the tiniest bit of hope.

Praying for forgiveness.

I have no choice but to attack.

I smile.

He wonders whats beneath my smile.

I laugh.

He knows the evil behind my laugh.

The victim finally realizing.

With his dying breath.

That he is the punchline.

Of the joke.